Falling Away (9 page)

I grab a takeaway and pace to the wharf. There’s a nip in the air; winter’s warning. I fasten my jacket, pulling at the belt to blockade the cold. Jack’s nowhere in sight, just Bobby. He characteristically checks the time before smoothly sliding the gangplank across.

He flicks a knowing look my way. “How are you today, Sam?” he asks meaningfully.

“Pretty good thanks, Bobby.”

“That’s the way. I heard about your car. Matt’s an A1 panel-beater. And I’ve known him since he was knee-high to a grasshopper. He’ll fix it up for you, nice and straight.”

“Well, I’ll be pleased to get it back,” I say, feeling foolish and guilty. The accident
was
my fault.

“Jack said the same thing.” Pressing the ignition, he absently taps at a few switches. The engine grumbles to life, agitating the water.

I hide from the wind, wondering if Riley will show up at work today. Just another little hurdle to jump. And I hope like hell he won’t turn up. That I’ll get another reprieve.

The ferry smacks the surface of the bay, punching through the waves. I steal a glance at Bobby, musing over his loss. He faced the profoundest pain while life carried on. And he lost
his child
. A crucial and irreplaceable element of his life, yet the world continued to callously spin. And I wonder how that
feels
. For Bobby
and
for Jack. And Jack’s mum too. For the world seems ruthlessly unsympathetic.

I shake myself from my thoughts. Nelson’s quiet when we dock, the waterfront dark and silky under bleak clouds rolling in from the south. The sky lowers over Yacaaba and Tomaree fades swiftly with the light. The wharf seems eerie without the usual chaotic hordes cramming the pillared pier.

I take the hill to the café, following the line of empty shops stretching both sides of the road. I’d like to keep walking, to call in sick, but Mum’s voice haunts me:
Face your day -  no point in running away
. Advice she was never quite able to adhere to herself. The irony isn’t lost on me, however the thought of pulling a sickie is exquisitely tempting.

My worst nightmare is realised when I arrive. Riley’s in the kitchen with his back turned. My heart drops, along with my stomach.
Great. Maybe I could just vanish with the ebbing tide.
And my instinct’s to flee.

At the sound of my footsteps he turns and looks right through me, screwing up his face in obvious displeasure. Fortunately the vegetables he chops at peak speed are way more interesting than me. I back from the kitchen, bumping carelessly into George.

“Whoa, Sam,” he says, jumping swiftly sideways. “You want to watch where you’re going?”

“Sorry,” I say, my face on high flush. I feel it turning from red to ruby by the second.

“Is everything okay?” he asks, looking from me to Riley and then back again.

I nod quickly. “Um, I think so. I hope it will be, anyway.”

George gives me a perplexed stare, peering imperiously over the rim of his glasses. “Are you sure?”

I give a nervous laugh. “Yes, of course George. Everything’s fine.”

“If you say so. I’m in my office if there’s anything you need to talk about. You do a great job, Sam,” he adds. “I don’t like complications.”

“Thanks George. There won’t be any, I promise.”

Emily and Gemma sit concealed in a sunless corner. They’re both on a break but only Emily is eating. A sizeable bowl of spicy bean nachos sits between them on the table. Emily spots me first and waves me over.

I saunter over, tying a Café Blue apron behind my back. They both beam unusually widely.

“Hi honey, we were thinking,” Emily starts.

Never a good thing
...

“Friday night after work there’s an open-air dance party. You should come.”

I’m surprised by the invite. Surely they realise if I’m averse to nightclubs then dance parties wouldn’t exactly entice. “Where’s it on?” I ask, playing for time.

“In the angophora forest behind Shoal Bay. Near Wreck Beach. Some friends went last year and said it was totally amazing. Dancing under trees in the moonlight to totally cool music.” Gemma’s green eyes skip with her eager excitement. “Come on, Sam. Say you’ll come.”

“It’ll be fun if we all go,” Emily reinforces. “And you enjoyed the party last week, didn’t you?”

“I wasn’t there that long. Riley and I left early, remember?”

“Yeah, but it was good, right? Some of Gemma’s friends from the party are going, too.”

“And we already bought tickets, and we’ve got one for you. But if you don’t want to go I suppose we
could
sell it?” says Gemma, looking over toward Em.

“And the tickets are cheap,” Emily adds. “
Really
cheap.

“Yeah, the tickets are not expensive at all,” Gemma repeats.

I laugh at their efforts. “Oh, all right. I suppose so,” I say, wondering why they’re so keen and knowing I’ll come to regret this later.

“Great! I knew you’d come,” squeals Emily. “It’ll be an awesome night. You’ll love it.”

“And Tim is going,” chimes in Gemma. “The guy I met at the party last week, remember? I suggested it and he said he’d come.”

So the truth is, Gemma will be occupied and Emily needs a friend. I guess that’s me.

“Sam, are you actually going to do any work today? Or just stand there blathering?” Riley snarls. He hovers in the doorway, leaning his tall frame against the architrave.

Gemma and Emily raise their eyebrows as I push sheepishly past, brushing against his skin.

Riley follows me back into the kitchen. The commercial dishwashers need unpacking, and although it’s quiet there are enough plates to keep me busy. Riley chops veggies for the soup silently. Corn kernels spit across the bench like yellow droplets of rain.

He exhales. Loudly. He seems frosty, even with all the ovens blaring. I shiver and finish the plates, stacking them neatly on the shelves. The glasses squeak when I touch them, but the sound is like a high pitched air-raid siren blaring between us.

After an hour or so he thaws, like a bear waking from hibernation. “Rest of your weekend okay?” he asks, still dark and surly. But at least he’s conversing.

“Not really. I smashed my car.”

He looks across, as if checking for marks. Bruises even. As if he cares. “Oh, really? Were you hurt?”

“No, I backed into someone. In a stupid fit of brain-loss. My car’s getting fixed at the moment.”

“Bummer, Sam. That sucks.”

I nod. “Totally. How was the rest of your weekend?”

He shrugs a shoulder dismissively. “It was okay, I guess. Went out Sunday night drinking with mates and was out till late. Felt a bit seedy on Monday. Sorry I wasn’t here. But I heard you had things totally under control.”

I need to clear the air. I don’t like the uncomfortable tension polarising the space between us. All those silent, unspoken words. I give him a hesitant smile. “Riley, about Friday. I don’t want you to feel ... you know, bad or anything.”

He turns his back on me, as if looking at me confronts the hell out of him. Then seems to think better of it and swivels to face me again, looking repentant. “Yeah, I’ll admit I had
way
too much to drink. I lay on the beach for a while after you left, contemplating the stars, and realised I hadn’t been too gentlemanly.”

I didn’t expect Riley to sound old-fashioned, and with the penitent glance he sends my way, I keep the conversation going. “I just felt … I don’t know, exposed. And you
were
pretty smashed. But I’m sorry I took off. I should’ve hung around a bit.”

Riley turns to face me. “Don’t let it worry you, Sam. It was totally understandable. I was far from pleased with my behaviour, so there’s no need for
you
to apologise. I’m the one who’s sorry.”

Relief washes over me. “So should we forget about it then? Forget the other night ever happened?” I say, almost pleading with him.

“Forget about it? No way, Sam. I really stuffed up. I’m going to make it up to you.”

What?
I laugh nervously because it’s not what I had in mind. At all. I thought things with Riley were well and truly buried.

He comes closer, staring me straight in the eyes. “I will. I’ll make up for it, Sam. You’ll see.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Time turns slowly when you’re desperate, and rushes away at the first hint of dread. Friday arrives all too quickly. Gemma buzzes about how magical it’s going to be, and Emily chirps about her favourite DJs. Frankly I couldn’t care less. But it’s a night out I suppose, even though I’d rather be home in bed with a good book.

“Ready for tonight?” Emily asks at the end of our shift. Her voice is all sing-song and musical. She’s wearing her short black party dress, cut-out at the back and scooping down just above her backside. The zipper at the front runs all the way from her chest to her thighs.

“I guess.” I cart the last load of plates to the kitchen, rinse them off and clang them carelessly into the dishwasher.

I change in the ladies, sliding into a tight black singlet and pulling on a heavily patterned mini-skirt. I sweep on mascara and layer on lip gloss, peering at my reflection. It’s okay, I guess. I slip money, credit card and licence into a nifty internal pocket, push my phone in as well, and leave my bag in the locker at Café Blue.

Gemma bounces out of her skin when Tim arrives, all sun-tanned and tall, his skin showing through a perfectly placed rip in his jeans. Casually confident, he’s one of those guys who appears to have it all. And his mates would be perfect too. Because those guys hang together. Like attracts like. He wraps Gemma close in his arms and kisses her lightly on the cheek.

***

As expected, the off-the-grid party is hell. Champagne flows liberally and moonlight hits the trees in spooky shafts of yellow. Wine barrels of ice are dotted everywhere, filled with an assortment of alcohol. I buy a bottle and sit with Emily on prudently placed tree-stumps. Discreetly sensible seating. Gemma and Tim cut loose to techno bass-beats pulsing through the trees. The strobe lighting offends my retinas and streams of smoke course through my lungs.

Emily sparkles under disco balls hanging from softly swaying branches. Her face is full of wonder. And I can tell she’s torn, wanting desperately to dance but reluctant to leave me. But I don’t mind being a wallflower. I feel more comfortable floating on the fringes, anyhow.

Tim won’t let anyone get close to Gemma. He just gives them the look and pulls her away. I can see how excited she is. All starry-eyed and glamorous, wearing her Charlie Brown hot pink dress with black glitzy sequins flicking light at the sky. It’s tight and very short. Strangely it doesn’t look out of place. Gemma can pull anything off when it comes to clothes.

They’re savouring the party. Every glinting moment of it. Laurent Garnier’s
Man with the Red Face
blares through the forest. “Ooh I love this! Come on Sam, we
have
to dance. Finish your drink!” The saxophone jazzes wildly over the top while the electro just melts away. For the whole ten minutes.

“All right,” I yell over the beat, downing the last of my champagne.

“Yay!” she says, dragging me off the tree-stump through the forest.

She finds a dell, dimly lit with fairy lights draped in the trees. Lines of twinkles, sparkling like the stars. I watch her dance, carefree in the night, boogying to the beat.

I try to dance but I’m awkward, in some kind of fantastic dream, surreal in its setting and oddly appealing as an observer. One champagne just isn’t enough. Will never be enough. I pour more fizz into my plastic champagne flute and sip. Emily’s happy to dance alone. I back away to lean casually against a tree, watching.

Tim and Gemma find us somehow. He performs a sexual bump and grind behind her, and she presses her body into him with bliss in her eyes. They move together in time, and it’s almost lewd. Tim closes his eyes, wrapping his arms round her waist from behind, and Gemma just gleams.

Gemma calls out, “Come on, Sam. Come and dance!” Tim’s eyes pop open and he gestures for me to join them. I’d rather jump off a cliff. And seeing as I’m scared of heights, that’s really saying something.

Claustrophobia engulfs me. Completely. Here in this heaving forest I yearn for the moonlit beach with the familiar salty breeze wafting over the pearlescent night-waves. Wreck Beach isn’t far through thick angophora trunks, tangled and smokey-grey in the moonlight. Glow-bands arc through the air on outstretched arms, mesmerising to watch. I’m an outsider looking in. An interloper in a community connected by music and sense of place, writhing together in a secret gathering. Perhaps another champagne will quell my desire to make a break.

A hand presses down firmly on my shoulder. I swing around, trying to focus on a guy gesturing a pack of cigarettes toward me. I blink, struggling to gauge him in the darkness. I don’t usually smoke, but considering the situation ...

“Thanks,” I say, pulling a cigarette from the pack. He cups his hands around it and lights it as I inhale.

He looks about thirty and way too old for this. He’s completely out of place, wearing a garish Hawaiian shirt, and his dark hair is shorn close to his head.

“Where’s your fun gene gone? Looks very much to me as if you’re not enjoying yourself,” he says closely into my ear.

I pull back. “Is it that obvious?”

“Yep,” he says, turning to watch the crowd shift in time to the techno.

I search the crowd for my friends. Emily, Gemma and Tim are swept further into the forest, caught in a crushing rip carrying them helplessly away. I think briefly of Jack losing his brother in the sea. And it tugs at my heart.

“I’ve never seen you at one of these before.” His voice is slurry and he smells like beer.

I shake my head. “You wouldn’t have, because I’ve never been.”

He raises his brow in surprise. “Not liking it?”

I shrug. “Not really. I came with some friends. They seem to be enjoying themselves.” I point toward Emily whose arms are raised above her head, beating at the air.